


Special Instructions

by frnkieroo



Series: Sterek Oneshots [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Prompt Fic, boyd is a blessing we dont deserve him, but whats new, derek literally knows nothing about tech shit im sorry, minimal swearing and alcohol, pizza!! bitch, stiles is my lil pizza boy Dont Touch Him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 13:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12133266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnkieroo/pseuds/frnkieroo
Summary: In which Derek is technologically inept as hell and Boyd just wants some pizza.(And maybe Boyd throws in a little something for his friend.)





	Special Instructions

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the twitter gc fam, hope this isn't too terrible  
> *insert hoech meme here*

"Do you ever restock your fridge? Or like, just eat in general?"

Derek looked up from the television to see Boyd raiding his barren kitchen. "Times are tough, Boyd. Grab me a beer."

His friend came back moments later, slouching back onto the couch with two bottles in his hands. He passed one over, muttering, "Of course you've got alcohol."

"I have plenty to eat!" Derek said brusquely, cracking off the bottle cap. After a swig, he paused. "I have... bread. I definitely have bread."

Boyd didn't even give him a look of acknowledgment, simply staring forward at the television. They had some old horror movie with terrible special effects on, but it wasn't like they were exactly watching it anyway. It was more like something for their eyes to glaze over as they gradually got drunk.

After a moment, Boyd broke the silence. "I want pizza."

"So... call in?" Derek looked over at his friend, who was rolling his eyes.

"Or I could live in this decade and order online, Derek."

He cleared his throat, kicking that small shred of embarrassment into the files in the very back of his head. He wasn't even that old, he just didn't use technology all that much. If he truly needed to, he would. But until then, he was fine with the occasional email or phone call being the extent of his technical abilities.

"Whatever. Do your thing." As irritated as Derek attempted to sound, he didn't even try to appear subtle as he watched Boyd go through the ordering process on his phone.

Boyd looked up to see Derek peering over his shoulder. "Any input on this? Or are you just going to keep staring?"

"Pass," he deadpanned.

"Seriously Derek, this whole aversion to food thing is starting to worry me. Have you even eaten toda-"

" _Yes,_ I've eaten," Derek gritted his teeth. "Order your stupid pizza already." He glanced at the phone once again. "And get me some breadsticks."

"The Breadman wants breadsticks, amazing."

Derek was about to come back with an unnecessarily rude remark when a box at the bottom of Boyd's screen caught his attention.

_Enter your Special Delivery Instructions here._

"What kind of special instructions do you need for delivering a fucking pizza?" Derek huffed, bringing the glass bottle back to his lips.

"I don't know, man. I asked for them to draw a picture on the box one time, I don't really know what it's there for."

"Uh-huh. Want another?" Derek stood up, holding up his empty beer; Boyd grunted out what he assumed was a yes.

As Derek was reaching into the fridge for another drink Boyd called from the couch, "Should be here in about half an hour."

"Fantastic. Don't see why my bread wasn't good enough, though."

"Shut up about your goddamn bread."

 

 

Now, Derek wouldn't admit that this movie was interesting, per se, but he was finishing off his fourth beer and the main girl was about to enter the shady-looking abandoned house and maybe his eyes weren't just glazing over it anymore. He blamed the appeal on the alcohol.

The knock at the door most definitely did  _not_ make him jump. 

"Can you get that?" Boyd mumbled.

Derek raised a brow. "Don't you have to, like, go pay for it?"

"Done." Boyd whipped out his credit card, waggling it in the air for a second before shoving it back into his pocket.

"And the tip?"

Boyd groaned, reaching into his pocket again and tossing a ten in Derek's general direction. "Just go get it before he decides to leave."

He grabbed the bill and headed to the door. "Just saying, you could have saved a whole lot if you just settled for-" He opened up the door to see the delivery boy, the  _very attractive delivery boy with the cute nose and pretty eyes._ "Hey."

"Hey," the delivery boy smiled warmly, shifting the box carrier in his arms. "You must be Derek."

Derek's brain short-circuited. "Wh- yeah, that's me." How did this guy know his name, how was he so pretty, and how long have they been standing here?

"Large pepperoni and breadsticks, right?"

A piercing scream echoed through the living room.

"We, uh- it's a movie," Derek muttered, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. "And yeah."

"Then this is yours," he said, unfazed, handing over the boxes. "Have a good night." He gave a small smile before walking off.

Derek gripped the boxes tightly. "You, you too, uh..."

"Stiles," the delivery boy called over his shoulder.

"Stiles," Derek whispered to himself. Odd, but nice. Then he remembered, looking down at his hand. "Wait, Stiles!"

He turned back around, a puzzled look on his face.

"Your, uh, your tip, I have-" Derek struggled to balance the boxes with one hand as he handed over the now crumpled bill.

Stiles broke into a huge smile, accepting the money. "Thanks, Derek."

As Derek gave a tight, awkward smile and shut the door behind him, he shot a look over to Boyd, who hadn't moved an inch off the couch.

"Did you order this under my name?"

"Hm? I might've, wasn't really paying attention. Gimme," Boyd reached out as far as he could from where he sat.

 

 

Maybe Derek did need to do a little shopping. Aforementioned bread was starting to look a bit inedible, and he had cleared through his beer with Boyd days ago. Nothing really notable was stocked in his kitchen. Nothing but the empty pizza box sitting on his counter.

He grabbed it, ready to toss it in the garbage before he noticed the receipt stuck to the top of the box. 

At the very bottom, in small font, was clear Special Delivery Instructions. 

_Send cutest delivery boy for Derek._

Oh, he was going to  _kill_ Boyd, absolutely rip a new one into him, just _fucking-_

But then again. The pizza place thoroughly followed the instructions, sending what Derek was sure was the cutest pizza boy in the history of pizza boys. Quite possibly in the history of any boy, ever.

He threw the box away and glanced over at the laptop in the corner of his living room, which was currently collecting dust. He warily walked over to it, pressing the power button and watching the screen come to life.

Was he really going to do this? 

Yes, yes he was. He pulled up the website and began typing in his address. 

He didn't take much time on the specifics of the order, clicking on the first deal he saw. He put in the rest of the information before reaching the bottom of the page.

_Enter your Special Delivery Instructions here._

Derek sighed, watching the little line in the box blink at him, almost teasingly. How pathetic was this really, on the grand scale of many pathetic things he had done in his life? Worst case scenario, Stiles wouldn't be interested and he simply would never order pizza ever again. He hesitantly typed:

_Send Stiles_

Was that too creepy? Probably. But again, if all else fails he could live without pizza.

He submitted the order, wondering if the employees would see the instructions and they would all just laugh at him, Stiles included. What if Stiles was creeped out and sent someone else to deliver instead?

The page reloaded and showed a bar regarding the status of his order. There was an animation of a little man tossing up a ball of dough, and under it read:  _Isaac is creating your master-pizza! Est. wait time: 45 minutes._

Derek walked over to his couch, sinking in and wondering how to kill the time. He pulled out his phone, considering how weird it would seem for one man to have 2 large pizzas to himself. 

**To: Boyd**

_pizza and movies? its on me._

**From: Boyd**

_cant, dinner date w erica tonight_

Derek groaned. 

**To: Boyd**

_what if i told you it was an emergency_

**From: Boyd**

_then you wouldnt have started this conversation with a pizza offering_

**To: Boyd**

_you started this._

**From: Boyd**

_i have no clue what youre talking about. but if i did i would be expecting some sort of thank you_

He crossly tossed his phone aside and turned the television on. Some show he hadn't seen before was playing; two men were sitting at a diner as one explained to the other that he only came each week to see the waitress.

Relatable.

He half-watched, half-zoned out for a while before going back to check his laptop. It was now showing an animation of a little car with a smiling driver in it, and the text below read:  _Stiles is on the way with your order! Est. wait time: 20 minutes._

Derek re-read the line over and over. So he saw the instructions? Maybe his co-workers dared him to go, maybe they offered their week's worth of tips so that Stiles would come and reject him as some big joke. He forced himself to stop overthinking it before he simply turned out every light in his house and pretended not to be home. 

He looked around his living room. It wasn't a disaster, but it looked obviously lived-in. Was it worth it to clean up for the ten seconds that Stiles could possibly see of his house from the front door? He shrugged, picking up the dishes and papers scattered around. Might as well kill the time, because just sitting around was only making him more anxious. 

He paused for a minute when he passed by his bathroom. He walked in, flicking on the light and looking to see if he appeared as tired as he felt. He lifted up his arm. Did he smell? He should probably change his shirt, he had been wearing this one since yesterday.

The knock at the door took him back for a second. He cursed under his breath, flattening out the wrinkles on the front of his shirt and hoping Stiles maybe had prescription glasses that he never wore to work, giving Derek a nice blurred semblance.

He opened the door and ignored the stupid flip his stomach did at the sight in front of him. He didn't think it was possible, but Stiles somehow looked even cuter than the last time he saw him. 

"You again," Stiles said with a small grin.

"Me again," Derek chimed. 

There was a quick beat of silence; Derek couldn't discern whether it was hot or awkward. Most likely the latter.

"Uh, two large pepperonis?" Stiles pulled the boxes from the carrier and looked back at Derek.

"Yeah, yep," he said, throat tightening. "This, uh- this isn't just for me, I've got- you know, a friend, he's-" He mentally cursed Boyd for his absence. "He's in the bathroom." He quickly grabbed the boxes and handed Stiles a bill. 

"Uh-huh," Stiles said slowly, shoving the tip in his back pocket. "Well, I hope you and your friend have a good night, Derek."

"You too," Derek replied oh-so-intelligently before shutting the door, running his empty hand down his face. 

He tossed the boxes onto the kitchen counter and decided to retire to the couch for the night. It wasn't a complete failure, he supposed, but if he could just be smooth for once in his goddamn life, that would be great.

 

 

It was reaching midnight- at least, Derek had assumed it was from the late night infomercials he was now mindlessly watching, and the only light that filled the room was coming from the television screen. He was really sinking into this "sober and lonely" mood that was starting to materialize. He contemplated whether this evening's events were shameful enough to never touch his laptop, let alone order pizza again.

Sure, he was probably being dramatic, but he didn't care.

He could feel his eyes drifting closed and he was too tired to make the thirty-second trek to his bedroom, so sleeping on the couch it was.

The knock at the door, this time, admittedly did make Derek jump.

He stretched out, and called towards the door, "Boyd, if you think you can make up for today you're dead wrong."

"Not Boyd."

Derek's eyes snapped open at the voice. No. No way.

In an instant, he threw open the door and there stood Stiles, sans pizza and work uniform. His red hoodie was hanging over him loosely, hands behind his back.

"Hey." Derek's voice betrayed him hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "Uh, did I forget to pay or-"

"Oh, no," Stiles smiled, looking down, then back up at Derek, which... did things to Derek's stupid brain. "I'm off my shift, and I snuck out some extra breadsticks," He brought his hands out, holding a little bag. "I was wondering if- is your friend still here?"

"Who, Boyd? Actually-"  _He wasn't here in the first place._ "He just left." Derek paused for a second before moving out of the way, gesturing for Stiles to come in. 

Stiles trailed into the kitchen, tossing the bag onto the counter before his eyes landed on the boxes. Derek froze by the front door. Stiles' eyes quickly switched between Derek and the boxes before laying a curious hand down and opening the top box to find a completely untouched pizza. Derek could fall into the Earth right now, just let the ground swallow him up whole.

Stiles clicked his tongue. "I should tell Isaac, the disrespect-" He glanced back up to Derek with a smirk. "You and your friend not hungry?"

Derek blanched. "I-" 

He was either going to throw up right now or spill everything. He wasn't sure which of the two was more mortifying. 

"I'm not that big of a fan of pizza, actually."

Silence.

Stiles raised a brow, studying Derek's expression before starting. "Well, I'm with you on that. Being around certain foods for eight hours a day kind of turns off the appeal." He shut the box, walking towards Derek. "But what I can't seem to understand, is why someone who isn't that big on pizza, would go and order  _two._ " 

The two were close now, to the point where Derek could see Stiles' pupil's taking over the whiskey irises. 

"You saw the instructions," Derek said. He could feel the other's breath on his nose.

"I did."

And that erased any notion that was holding Derek back, cupping Stiles' jaw and pulling him in. His lips were even softer than they looked.

They pulled away after a moment, and even in the dim light, Derek could see the flush across his face. "Do you wanna watch, uh-" He glanced over at the television. "Wanna watch infomercials with me?"

Stiles grinned. "I'd love to." 

And as the two sat on the couch, watching a man on the screen demonstrate how to use a self-coiling hose and binging on breadsticks, Derek managed to shoot a text. 

**To: Boyd**

_thanks, man._

The pizza was long forgotten. 

**Author's Note:**

> i looked back at a lot of sterek fics i did and wow,,,,,,, pretty trash, i orphaned a shit ton of them bc i was too attached to just delete lmao  
> anyways im back on my bullshit thx for reading


End file.
